With the world coming down around us
by Never the End127
Summary: The smoke is burning into his lungs, heat chaffing at his skin, and Ward knows he's going to die.


**This story was the product of a three-hour car trip, during which my brother fell asleep and I hijacked his laptop. Hopefully you shall enjoy, and the ending is kind of open to your own interpretation. Special thanks to my loving and loyal reviewers, and to all my people out there that know that Skyward needs to happen.**

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The smoke is burning into his lungs, heat chaffing at his skin, and Ward knows he's going to die.

It's been a long time coming, and he's only surprised that it took this long to happen. All these years spent dodging bullets, all those times he's evaded capture and withstood torture and been prepared to die in the name of Hydra…

No, in the name of Garrett. It was Garrett he was allegiant to. Garrett he respected and trusted and served.

Now he's going to die in the name of something he loves. Ward feels like he should feel some sense of pride. Like running back into a burning building for the scientists and Skye should repair some long-reopened wound, should make him feel like less of a monster for betraying them. Now he's rescued everyone; Coulson is unconscious in the parking lot, with May trying to staunch the gushing wound in his chest. He's not sure where the scientists are, but he knows they're safe. They're the first ones he's got out.

And Skye. When he found her, she was fighting off three Hydra specialists, all trained in exactly the same fields as him, all of them possessing skills that might have rivaled Romanoff's.

He had fought them off to protect her. Skye, under his orders, had run.

Shortly after the fire started, one of the Hydra specialists had identified him as a traitor and handcuffed him to the railing at the top of a flight of stairs. He had hit it with everything he could find—even considered ripping the stair railing up at the nails and throwing himself through the top floor window.

But the nails are screwed in too tight, and the lock on the cuffs are too solid, and the fire is edging closer across the dusty, beaten carpet and burning into the doorframe that surrounds his only exit.

It's god damn _poetic_.

And he's ready to die, so completely ready to let the scorching red heat consume him. He's hurt so much in his lifetime, he's caused so much suffering and agony and he's finally set things right.

He's ready to die.

And then somehow, _she's_ there—the ends of her hair scorched and blackened, her face stained with soot and her hands are grimy with blood and gravel as she tugs at his arm like he'll magically break free from his bonds.

"Skye, get out of here!" A sudden burst of energy overtakes him, and he nearly throws her down the four remaining flights of stairs as he shoves her away from him.

"Grant!" She trills, hoarse and raspy from the smoke, and the fire is edging closer from all sides and still she tugs on his arm.

He should have known she'd run back for him. She's always been like that— the girl has a temper that flares up faster and hotter than the fire itself. But like fire, she also has a softer side to her—one that's heat and light and comfort. That's the side that usually gets her to do something stupid.

And now she's here, this senseless, selfless girl and she's going to die for him if she doesn't run. Now.

"Skye!" Ward hasn't cried since he was very young, but he feels the tears catching in his throat before he can choke them back down. "It's no use, run!"

She sets her jaw, running the back of her hand over her eye to wipe away sweat, or tears, or blood—possibly all three. "I'm not leaving you here." She snarls, and she gives a stubborn tug at the clasp around his wrist. "I can't."

"Go." He pleads, and her nails are cutting patterns into his skin as she pulls uselessly at his arm.

But all she can say is "I can't, I can't, I can't," and she looks like she's going to collapse.

Ward tilts his head, watching her struggle and for a moment all he can concentrate on is what a beautiful wreck she is. Hair stringy and caked with soot, ash and blood scraping across her mouth, her eyes red with tears that are cutting tracks of clean skin through the grime. Her clothes are ripped and singed. The silver SHIELD badge is hanging limply out of the pocket of her jeans, looking burnt around the edges.

Then he feels heat searing at the back of his neck, and he returns to himself with a violent jerk.

Ward tries everything to get her to leave as the flames engulf the walls around them. He shouts, he threatens, curses and kicks at her. When it's clear that it's over, he begs.

He shouts lies and threats that he doesn't mean, everything he can think of to convince her he's not worth saving. "I never loved you." He growls every time she reaches out for his bruised wrist, which his still firmly shackled to the railing. "I would have killed you if Garrett told me to."

"Shut up." She grits out.

"You are less than nothing to me." His voice was sharp, and higher than usual as the hysteria built. "You may as well run; no one's ever cared about you, and of the few people who can tolerate you, I'm not one of them. You've always been alone, Skye—I wouldn't protect you now if I could. I wouldn't die to save you. If our roles were reversed, I'd let you burn."

She freezes all over, and he suddenly thinks that he's finally got to her. Then she looks up, and the anger in her eyes is almost as cruel and violent as the stinging heat around them.

"You're wrong." She says, and her words are strong even if her voice is raspy and trembling. "People love me. Coulson and May love me. Fitzsimmons loves me. I have friends. I have a family. You have nothing and nobody."

"Then leave me." Ward's interruption is a strangled plea.

"I can't."

When she falls against him, they both tumble down onto the spark-strewn floor.

"I can't." And she's the one begging him now.

She's mid-sob when he reaches out with his free hand, grabbing her roughly by the back of the neck like a kitten and tugging her towards him. It's an awkward sort of hug, at first, with one of his arms lodged firmly behind his back and her head lulling against his shoulder.

Then she tilts her head, and he brushes his lips over her ear. Butterfly light, because neither of them want the heat of an actual kiss right now- their hearts are beating fast enough. They pepper kisses across each other's skin, and Skye's dotting patterns of beige lip gloss across his neck and it feels so, so good, he can't even tell her...

He's never told her he loves her. In fact, he's recently established the exact opposite of that.

And she's never said that she loves him.

The truth, he realizes, is that neither of them really need to. They've always known.

Ward falls back against the railing, metal burning into his back and shoulders but he can't feel it. She falls with her head against his chest, orange sparks fluttering into her hair like falling autumn leaves and she's shaking like the world is falling in around her.

"Please." Ward gasps, and it's finale and exhausted. She doesn't move.

They accept it, then. They accept that both of them are going to die—Skye couldn't escape now if she wanted to. They're locked into each other's arms, falling back against the brittle wood and curling together. Trying to shield each other.

"I didn't mean it." Ward rasps, and she nods, her tangled hair scraping against his neck. Her back is pressed against his chest, and he sees her reach out with one shaky hand to trace her name in the charcoal that powders the floor like thick black snow. S. K. Y. what resembles an E but looks more like a C.

"Your handwriting sucks." He murmurs fondly.

She laughs, sending up a cloud of powder and her drawing is obliterated as it whirls up into the air. "I know." She hums.

"Skye… Skye, I…" He breaks off into a violent cough, just then, and she's nodding like a bobble head and possibly crying.

"I know." She tells him, and he doesn't have to say it. "I know."

"Grant." She whines, trying to turn onto her side, and she doesn't have the strength to.

"Hmm?" He helps her roll over, tugging her back away from the flames.

"I hurt." She whimpers. "My head. And my chest. Can't breathe."

"I know."

"It hurts."

"I know." He can't tell her that it'll be okay, because burning to death is the most excruciating death she could possibly suffer. And it makes it even worse, because she ran back for him—he deserves this, and she doesn't.

"It'll be over soon." He lies through his teeth, and he has to whisper, because the sound of the world falling down around them is getting too loud and he's not sure if he really wants her to believe that it'll be quick and painless.

"You're a liar, Grant Ward." She's heard him.

He presses her head against his chest, trying to cover her ears because he doesn't want her to know how close or how hot the fire is burning now. "At least when we die, you'll stop burning." And he's only half joking. "I won't."

She doesn't open her eyes when she answers. "The idea of hell is both insulting and ridiculous." She mutters against his chest. "And regardless of what Sister Janice said, if there is a God willing to send people to hell for crimes such as atheism or having sex outside of marriage—oh, the freaking horror—then I really don't have much reason to care for him, do I?"

Ward would have laughed if there were any air left in his lungs. "I'm a terrible person, Skye." He argued, and she weakly punched him in the chest.

"No argument there." She let out a noise like a strained yawn. "But you're worth saving."

Her head dropped back against his shoulder, and Ward for the life of him hoped she died before the fire got to her.

His vision flickers like the lens on a camera, before it all fades to black.

He's too far gone to feel Skye being dragged out of his arms. He's too exhausted to know that it's Coulson's voice cutting though the roar of the fire.

Ward's just barely conscious enough to wonder, after they've rescued her, if they intend to save him or if they'll leave him here to burn.

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**Thanks for reading! Also, to the kind soul who assisted me in trying to fix my battery, I think it needs replaced. However, my brother has been kind enough to lend me his, so there should be very little delay in writing Skyward and other ships!**

**This fic turned out really angsty... I dunno. Let me know what you think, my darlings! And remember- not all of it has to be strictly praise! Don't bother being polite, I have brothers. I'm kind of immune to criticism.**


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